


beginning's end

by Spearquint (orphan_account)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen, feat. political inaccuracies probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Spearquint
Summary: Donna's having a day.ADay. Capital D.
Relationships: Donna Moss & Sam Seaborn, Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	beginning's end

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Don't Judge a Book By Its Title](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834969) by [Lily_Padd_23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Padd_23/pseuds/Lily_Padd_23). 



> Hello! FYI: The part about JFK is inspired by a line in [Don't Judge a Book By Its Title](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834969) by [Lily_Padd_23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Padd_23/pseuds/Lily_Padd_23). Check out all her stuff, it's awesome!

Donna's having a day _._

A _Day_. Capital D.

Winifred Hooper's already rewritten half of what was supposed to be a final draft, her schedule for today is nowhere to be found on her desktop, her deputy is having what can only be called a crisis, and she’d only got three hours of sleep last night. 

She crosses her ankles as the President looks at the presumptive candidates for the Secretary of Education. They've been back and forth on this for a week now - only because he wants to get exactly the right person. And Donna can admire that. She _can._ She's always known him to care, as long as they've known each other. 

But sometimes, things need to get going, and politics waits for no one. Not even the president. 

He sighs, takes off his glasses. "I can't ask for more time, can I?"

"Well, you could, but the question is if you want to, sir." She leans forward. "Do you want to?"

"Well, there's a marked difference between want and need, Donna, and I think you know that we never get what we want anyway." 

"No kidding," she sighs. "I mean it's not just this, it's the Senate too, and we haven't got a majority there. We'll have to thread the needle."

He peers at her. "Thread the needle?"

Donna's nonplussed until she sees the tick in his mouth, pulling at the right side. 

"Walk the line. I am _not_ singing that," she says, holding up a finger as the President goes to say something. "Bipartisanship, Mr. President. One of your finest talents."

"Are you saying I don’t have any other ones?"

"I don't know, sir," Donna answers, folding her fingers up. "I feel like Josh would have something to say to that." 

"Don't worry, Donnatella," he says, pulling out her full name. "I can give as good as I get. So can you. We can tag-team him."

"Are you starting a conspiracy against your husband, sir?" she replies. "How would we explain that to the press?" 

"The same way we explained the secret plan to fight inflation," he says, grinning for real this time. He's come such a long way - they both have, and the thought of inauguration being just last week seems incredibly surreal. She'd gotten in a good dance this time - Josh had had to make up for the other times.

“Our best work gets done when we wing it,” Donna says. “You’d know.”

“I don’t think we can go with the same approach for this, Donna,” he says, voice switching back to what Donna has aptly named his getting-things-done tone. Or at least trying-to-get-things-done tone. He sighs, stares at the files before him, before selecting two.

“Hendrix and Patel,” he says. “I like their track records and Patel’s worked in the Department of Education for years.”

“Hendrix hates you,” she replies, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, we’ve got ideological differences, Donna, but -”

“No, no, no,” Donna says, tapping her fingers. “He called you the Kennedy-figure that Gen Z wants but the twenty-first century doesn’t need. #genzkennedy, sir. It was trending.” 

“I was in Congress,” he says, but his eyebrows are pinching. “Lots of people called me things back then. Some of them were even kind of funny.”

“You’re not just a discount version of JFK, Sam,” she says, frustrated, and there’s a silence afterward.

It takes Donna a few seconds to realize her slip, and she says, “Mr. President, I - I -” 

He’s just staring, and her eyes are a little wide. He doesn’t look shocked, exactly, but a quiet kind of surprise that creeps up on you. 

Donna closes her eyes for a moment to draw herself together. “You’re _not._ There’s more to you than that. That’s what you’ve spent the last decade trying to say.” A pause. “Sir.” 

It had been a windy night, and she’d been drinking a cup of chamomile tea in Josh and Sam’s kitchen. They’d been sitting at the table, talking about nothing, and then Josh and Sam had just stopped and stared at each other. Like a language. Like a sign.

“Is this one of your legendary silent conversations?” Donna said, over her tea. “Can you let me in? I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

Josh had blinked, looked at her. 

“Donna,” he said, and it was the first time he’d said that she had no real idea of what was coming after.

The story of Leo McGarry and Jed Bartlet and the napkin that changed everything is probably always going to be more compelling than Josh Lyman, Sam Seaborn, and Donna Moss sitting in a kitchen with coffee and tea at nine at night, but it’s their story.

“I owe you just as much for that,” Sam says, now. “And I’m open to the criticism, Donna. If it’s Hendrix and not Patel, then, well, he’ll be ready to kick my ass a little faster than most, that’s all.”

“That’s an oversimplification. You're too nice.”

"I’d call it clarity.”

“Yes, well,” Donna says, but something inside her has stilled. “It’s only that when you’re talking to a million people on a campaign stop. Congress isn’t ready for the crassness.”

“Even if I’m concise?” Sam says, and his eyes are fond, this time. “I know they complain about my conciseness.”

“That’s what we love about you, Mr. President,” she says, and she means it. “Your verbosity knows no limits. I’m sure you mean well. I -”

Donna stops. There'd been a quip on her tongue, but she’s still navigating the waters of this job, the new boundaries of this relationship. It’s not blurred enough that she can’t see the mark between Sam and Samuel N. Seaborn, President of the United States, but she’s toeing it, trying to find her way.

“Yeah?” he says, peering over his glasses.

She gets up, lingers at the chair. “I’m sort of still - bobbing away. I guess? I mean I think my schedule is lost to the void and Mason’s been in his office for the last two hours. I just - it feels like I'm lost, a bit." 

“I don’t doubt you, Donna,” he replies. "I know you'll be a damn fine Chief of Staff. But there's a learning curve to all of this. You know that, Josh knows that, I definitely know that - I -” he huffs out a laugh. “I still have to brush up before I go into the Sit Room. Josh is still trying to figure out what the hell he's going to do. I found out that there is apparently a whole process to ordering coffee. Many, many steps. I just can’t, you know -” 

He makes a gesture that makes her laugh. 

“I think Mason’s just getting first day jitters,” Donna says. “And I should probably talk to Winnie.”

He jolts up. “Winnie?”

“Winifred Hooper, you know, your Director of Comm -” 

“She lets you call her Winnie?”

“She's from the Midwest, you know,” Donna says cheekily. "We bonded over shared origins."

“It’s been twenty years and she still can chew me out," Sam replies, kind of wondering. " _Winnie_. Will wonders never cease, Donna?”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we, sir?” she says. 

“I guess we do,” Sam says, and Donna smiles. 


End file.
